A Piece of the Sky
by IrenaAdler
Summary: Alan and Margaret struggle to have a second child. OneShot Not in my slash series Warning: Discussion of miscarriage.


**Warning: Discussion of miscarriage**

_"She told me about a group of people in Guinea who carry the sky on their heads. They are the people of Creation. Strong, tall and mighty people who can bear anything. Their Maker, she said, gives them the sky to carry because they are strong. These people do not know who they are, but if you see a lot of trouble in your life, it is because you were chosen to carry part of the sky on your head."  
- Edwige Danticat _

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**A Piece of the Sky—**

Alan tried to smile when his wife said she was pregnant. He gave her something that was close to a smile, but she wasn't fooled. He'd never been able to fool her.

"Maybe it'll be Lucky Seven," Margaret said.

Alan gave her a real smile for that. She'd always mocked people who ascribed mystical powers to numbers. She smiled back, but it was a strained smile. They were back into the horrible waiting time.

Alan and Margaret Eppes had always wanted a big family. They'd had Don fairly soon after getting married and, when Don was a toddler, they'd stopped using birth control and Margaret had quickly got pregnant. Everything had gone well for a while. Margaret had been able to work part time at her law firm while her mother took care of Don. They'd painted the new baby's bedroom a neutral green and planned on Margaret taking a leave of absence when the new baby was born.

Then, at thirteen weeks, something had happened. The doctors hadn't been able to explain it. The fetus that had been forming in Margaret's womb had just stopped growing. She'd passed the fetus from her body naturally, mourned, explained to all her friends, then, after enough time had passed, had gotten pregnant again.

The second time the pregnancy had only lasted six weeks. They hadn't told anyone but Margaret's mother, so it was only the three of them that had been forced to deal with a new bout of grief.

They had been more optimistic on the third pregnancy. Statistically, this one should have worked. But it hadn't. Margaret had taken a full year to recover from that one, as much as a person ever recovers.

From Don's second year to his fourth, his mother had been pregnant six times. None of them had lasted as long as the first. They'd gone to doctor after doctor, but no one could explain it. Alan had tried to be understanding, supportive, anything he could think of, but he'd been helpless. He'd thanked God daily for Margaret's mother, an energetic bundle of comfort and aid. He'd told Margaret a number of times that he'd be happy with just Don, but she was determined. And he'd never been able to change her mind once she'd made a decision.

So now here he was, trying to smile at her seventh pregnancy.

"I'll call mom," Margaret said, squeezing Alan's hand.

Alan nodded and tried to concentrate on his blueprint again. His eyes refused to focus. He remembered something Margaret's mother had said after the last miscarriage – 'This baby that's coming, this baby is somethin' special. This baby is picky about their body and they'll come when the right body is ready. You just keep trying, sweetie. This baby is gonna be a picky, special child.' Alan wasn't sure he believed in what she said, but it was a nice sentiment, especially since Margaret was determined to keep trying regardless of what anyone said.

"Hi, Mom," Margaret said into the phone. "The doctor called."

Alan picked up his blueprint and left the room.

The first ten weeks of this seventh pregnancy were bad. Margaret had a lot more morning sickness than she'd ever had. Her mother kept telling her that it was a good sign, a sign of a strong pregnancy, but all Alan could see was his beloved wife getting paler and weaker.

They passed the dreaded thirteen week mark and Margaret was still sick. But she was also still pregnant. Alan began to feel a little bit of hope when they heard the tiny heartbeat on the monitor. Then, at twenty weeks, the doctors saw something they didn't like. Margaret was ordered to strict bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy and so began the longest eighteen weeks of Alan's life.

Margaret had always been an active woman, both physically and socially. She chafed at the restrictions the doctors put on her, refusing at first to be taken care of. She insisted on continuing to do some work for her law firm and griped at Alan when he tried to get her to lie in the prescribed position. She began to yell at Alan for any reason, or no reason at all. At week twenty-two, Margaret's mother moved in and Alan moved to a hotel. It was a relief to be away from Margaret's foul temper, but he also constantly worried about her health, at times angry at this unknown baby that threatened her life. Alan knew, intellectually, that Margaret's mother would do a better job of keeping Margaret restricted, but he wanted to be there, wanted to help. She just out-stubborned him, she always had. He also missed Don and spent as much time as he could with his little boy, who was alarmed and anxious about the change in his mother and a little intimidated by his grandmother.

The weeks dragged on and Alan worked at his job as much as possible. He took long, meandering walks through the city and bought small presents for Margaret that he kept in a suitcase in his room. He lived on scraps of information from Margaret's mother and babysitting evenings with Don.

The baby was born two weeks early. Margaret's mom called from the hospital while Margaret was in emergency surgery. Alan wasn't even able to get to the hospital before their second child was born.

He stared through the nursery's glass wall at the baby boy, a tiny bundle of red wrinkles wrapped in a blue blanket. A dark tangle of curly hair could be seen above the small face. This was the child that they'd suffered so much to get. Emotion swelled up in his throat and he had to turn away from the glass to regain control.

"Mr. Eppes?" a nurse said. "Your wife is awake now."

"Thanks," Alan said hoarsely. He followed the nurse down the hospital corridors to a room where Margaret lay, propped up in a bed with her mother sitting next to her. Alan hesitated in the doorway, then Margaret held out her hands. She gave him a smile that was both apologetic and welcoming.

Alan smiled in relief and went to her. Her hands were cold, but her grip firm. "Hello, my love," she said tiredly.

"Hello," he whispered.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

"From a distance," Alan said. "Looked good from there."

Margaret laughed softly, a sound which went straight to Alan's heart and nested there.

She sobered. "Alan, I know that we wanted a big family, but I think that this is the child we've been waiting for. Our last baby."

Alan felt a lurch of hope. "We're done?"

She nodded firmly. "We're done." She gave him a wry smile. "Somehow I doubt that this baby is finished giving us grief. I have a feeling that he's gonna be a handful."

Alan gripped her hands and gave her a smile veiled with tears. "We'll be able to handle him, together."

"Together," Margaret responded, her own eyes moist.

"Mr. and Mrs. Eppes?" said a nurse from the door. She was carrying the bundle of blue blanket from the nursery. She walked into the room and carefully laid the sleeping child in Margaret's arms.

Alan and Margaret gazed down at their second child. As they watched, he opened his eyes and looked up at them with the biggest brown eyes that Alan had ever seen.

"Charles Edward?" Margaret asked. It was the name they'd decided on for a boy, so long ago.

Alan nodded and reached down to touch a soft cheek. "Hello, little Charlie. Welcome to the family."


End file.
